


interrupt us

by reaperangelique



Series: mars may sell you kingdoms, but venus crowned me queen. [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Childhood, Coitus Interruptus, Domestic, F/M, Family, Historical, LMAO, Misunderstandings, Parenthood, Sex, i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 10:16:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13456140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reaperangelique/pseuds/reaperangelique
Summary: Becoming a parent changes...things. Even if you didn't, precisely, agree to it.Or, small Germany doesn't grasp the concept of adult time and neither Prussia nor Austria make it any easier for him to understand, with the way they act.





	interrupt us

**Author's Note:**

> don't worry, innocent eyes are not besmirched. this has been noodling around in my drafts for a good while but why not put it out there. early (post-1815) 19th century stuff

The German Confederation's bedroom (cosy, filled with toys and maps) is down the hall from his brother's (handsomely decorated, Spartan and abandoned); it is two long corridors away from Austria's room (mysterious, perfumed, and often locked). Austria's house has an annoying habit of doubling back on itself. Her room is not quite out of the child's earshot on a still night.

He has worked out that his brother prefers that room to his own, and he thinks it must be bigger and more comfortable (because even a six-year-old child knows that Austria does not sleep in a room as modest as the one she has given Prussia). He can hear them talk in the dead of night- ten o'clock or so, frightfully late to him- and that makes sense, because they are adults and have no bedtimes. And they talk and talk all day, after all, not quite _nice,_ but often funny.

Then he hears them move, and that's not unusual- but he doesn't know what it is that makes some of those noises, bumps and slams and creaks, and it's neither footsteps nor floorboards, he thinks. He turns over in bed and frowns into the gloom; while he's puzzling over it, his eyes close without his knowledge, and it is morning.

-

One, or both, will wake him up and eat breakfast with him. Today it's Austria, and she is relaxed in dress- for her- but tired. She's tired even when she sleeps until noon, and it is nine in the morning, so there is no hope, and the German Confederation thinks, in his small and wondering way, that it would be rude to mention that she woke him later than Prussia usually did. She knows that, anyway.

She chides him to eat the sweet pastries she's given him, and when he doesn't- distracted child, pay attention- she sleepily feeds him from her plate. He is young for his age, but she remembers him being old, and it's too early for this.

The German Confederation sees that Austria has red-rimmed eyes and her long curls are limp- normal; when she stretches and yawns, he sees that she has bruises where her robe slips from her shoulder. He doesn't know how one can come by bruises except by falling, or being hit, or sometimes dropping a breakfast tray on oneself- he doesn't know that they may be applied with kisses, and so he stares hard, and thinks.

-

Days and nights pass and he thinks of other things, and he sees Austria and his brother together, as usual. Arguing, in a way that isn't quite serious. Prussia kisses her cheek- mainly when he seems to think his little brother isn't watching- and Austria smoothes his lapels. He touches her shoulder through her flimsy, pretty dress, and she gives him a look that the German Confederation has never seen a woman give a man. He does not know if it is good or bad.

-

Prussia has to be away for a few days. He arrives home late at night, and the German Confederation hopes his brother will call in to see him- and yes, he does. The child pretends to sleep as Prussia opens the door, checks on him- kisses his head once, and leaves. He is apparently too preoccupied to notice the affected breathing patterns of the deceitfully awake.

The German Confederation sits up and listens to footsteps leaving him, then silence, then footsteps once more when Prussia reaches Austria's room, muffled like their murmured greetings are muffled, and then- cut off.

He doesn't hear much, and he rests his head to go to sleep, as they must have, until another noise jolts him. Suddenly his- caretakers- are loud, voices and movements, as if something is tapping the wall repeatedly, and _something_ is hitting _someone-_ sharp sounds, in a rhythm, and the human noises that follow. Yelps, or something like that. High pitched.

He's been disciplined physically, and no matter how patient Austria, how careful Prussia, it hurts and he doesn't like it at all.

The German Confederation knows Austria's voice even through all the walls, interrupted by Prussia's low mutters now and then, and he wonders, feeling traitorous, if his brother is hurting her. He can't picture exactly how; perhaps if he were older and understood more, his thoughts would take a very dark turn- but then if he were older and understood more, a simpler answer would have come to him already and, perhaps, turned him red to his ears.

But he's only a child, and much more simple than that, only thinking of sharp hands and bruises. They quiet again- not silent, but a throbbing quiet- and the thought disturbs the child's sleep for days.

-

A spate of curious noises over the next week keep him up anyway, but none so worrying. There is a breakfast with _both_ of them, this time, and everyone is tired and pale, though his brother, palest of all, is chipper. Austria tries to feed the German Confederation when his attention wanders, and his brother demands the same help, despite having cleared his plate twice. A minor argument ensues; the child interrupts them with uncomfortable noises resurfacing in his mind, and Austria touches his cheek- the boy is transparent, what is the matter with him? There should be nothing keeping _him_ up- and the German Confederation darts into his brother's lap as if this will be the test of his character.

"Bad dreams, Bund?" Prussia is very warm, and his loose embrace is as reassuring as anything can be. The boy is too young to understand, but even he knows in a fledgling way the many faces of their kind. He struggles to reconcile them.

"Give him warm milk tonight," Austria is saying, because food is her favourite solution after music; she ruffles the German Confederation's hair and smoothes it down again, and he's not watching, but he's half-certain she makes the same gesture to his brother over his head. And when Prussia turns, his high collar, improperly fastened, shifts; there are bruises.

Suddenly the child's perspective seems to turn upside down, and he spends the day perplexed.

-

There is another argument- viewed from a distance- at least, he thinks it's an argument. Austria's hand looks very slender on Prussia's jaw, but- she _is_ strong, isn't she? In a certain way. Their aggressive body language changes, though the boy still reads it as aggressive, _somehow,_ and he runs away.

-

That night the noises are sharp again after a lull in conversation, and he thinks it's not a hand against skin, it's almost a whipcrack, and he sits up in fear. He cannot hear Austria at all.

Then he hears the masculine grunts, and groans, and the German Confederation drags the blankets to his chin to worry them with his tiny fingers, nudging his empty milk cup with his elbow and jumping. The groans grow _very_ loud, and there is- he thinks- womanly laughter.

In all his short life, he's never been so confused.

The thrumming, humming quiet is louder tonight, with voices and no words that he can distinguish. He hides under the covers until he sleeps.

-

It takes days for him to gather his courage- and besides what he might find, his brother has instilled a fear of leaving bed after dark in him, though the German Confederation supposes- what with the lively murmuring from Austria's room- that no one will notice him breaking rules. There are at least four false starts before he makes it down the dark hallway, blanket around his shoulders; he has a good sense of direction and an even better ability to block out the frightening shadows at the edge of his vision, this stately house transformed and imposing at night. He will retain this ability for life.

He's not yet a master of stealth, however, and Austria's double doors are most certainly not soundproof. He fusses with the metal handle of a nearby bureau, without even noticing that he's doing it, and the unintelligible conversation inside the room dies out.

The occupants are entwined rather tightly, but certain instincts make them freeze and peel apart like the slow descent of wallpaper in studies Austria refuses to renovate. Austria is rigid from the waist up, legs spread and stubbornly trembling, hair as wild as her eyes; she has a glistening trail of Prussia's come between her breasts and the taste of him still in her mouth, and his fingers are wet to the knuckles as he sits on his haunches above her, ready to spring for the door. They exchange a long look.

"...Bund?"

There's the sound of a small creature skittering and scuffling away to where it belongs at this time of night, and at length, Prussia sinks back down to Austria's body, molding to her anew and watching the door as his fingers find their place inside her again. "Haa...he's too fuckin' cute and daring lately, poor little kid. I feel bad."

"Not bad enough to stop," Austria mumbles, chin tucked above his head, and she makes an effort to come quietly.

-

They fuss over the German Confederation in tandem the next morning, though they do not directly ask him if he came to their- Austria's- room, and he definitely doesn't confess it. There are veiled comments about getting a good night's rest and not causing disturbances. If he were older, he would bite out something sarcastic (and, of course, regret it) but he hasn't the presence of mind yet. Austria offers him a lullaby tonight, and he holds her calm gaze almost shrewdly, taking a slice of sausage from Prussia's plate- and where's his please?!- before he accepts.

He tests the strength of her hands for himself when he escorts her- not the other way around- down the garden path in the afternoon. Prussia scuffs his feet ahead of them, as if he hadn't had any intentions of doing any escorting himself.

-

Austria tucks the German Confederation into his bed with Prussia lounging in the doorway, and the child wonders if he's waiting to escort her to her room, or if he's watching her to make sure she doesn't do anything he deems unacceptable with his little brother. Tell him a bedtime story about Jena and Auerstädt, for example. She doesn't, but she does try to send Prussia away before she'll sing, and the boy changes his mind; that must be Prussia's purpose in interfering. At length she does keep her promise, and her rendition of _Der Mond ist aufgegangen, die goldnen Sternlein prangen_ is extraordinarily sweet, such that the German Confederation can barely imagine her putting a bruise on anyone. Prussia's eyes are closed the entire time.

When they close his door, he thinks he could forget about what troubles him, but there is _laughter,_ suddenly, as they walk away, and it plays on his mind enough to keep him awake. His lack of context- lack of worldly knowledge- prevents true understanding of his feelings, but he might, one day, recognise it as a soft jealousy for the time they spend privately, without him. He no longer fully thinks that they are hurting each other- or, if they are, then it doesn't seem to matter one bit.

A stubborn instinct drives him from his bed when the night is thick with silence, or not quite.

-

Austria rests her head in the crook of Prussia's neck, his skin cool and clammy under hers, and lets gravity and sweat pull them and stick them together so closely she might never get up again. She lies atop him rather than next to him, by mutual preference. It would be simple to push him from her and perhaps right out of her room, just because she can, but she derives more pleasure- on the whole- from giving him as little room to breathe as possible. That was the point of him staying with her, anyway.

They've already fucked twice and Prussia's mouth is closed, which means he is exhausted, but his hands still rub her back and toy with her slightly stringy hair, which means he is alive, and might be good for another round in time. Austria enjoys silence, but she also enjoys breaking it.

"I did not appreciate," she begins, her thumb pressing down on his nipple, "your remarks about Metternich over dinner- do you think it is appropriate to speak of his indiscretions in front of the child?"

"I think," he replies at great length, very slowly, and she thinks he must be enjoying her touch from the sound of the grin in his voice. "I think it's very, very important- fucking pivotal- to speak of his fuckups in front of _my_ kid, yeah, Österreich. Pinch a little bit, would you?"

She obliges, whether that request was sincere or not, and he makes a small noise in his throat. "I am not talking about foreign relations, but you know this."

_"Oh,_ you mean how he fucked his way through France every time he set foot there- like motherland, like son, eh?- sounds like foreign relations to me, Princess, but you know best- h-hah." He breaks off with a breath that ruffles Austria's hair, her fingernails working at his chest. "So! What are you gonna _do_ about it?"

The challenge is so weak and familiar that she doesn't bother to reply. They know what they'll be doing in five minutes or so, when he pulls himself together.

"I can't stand you, Preußen," she says, and she shifts on him to lie fully on her front, face buried between his neck and her pillows; her remark seems very unconvincing, but that's how he likes it. He indulges in her for a long moment, soft breasts and fine, tickling hair against his hip making him hum, and then, with no further preamble, he throws her on her back, and she deems this challenge acceptable.

-

He has his tongue in her mouth and a generous amount of flesh in his hands when they are interrupted. The knock is timid, and their eyes meet, forehead to forehead; they are both wondering if they can just pretend it didn't happen. But it happens again, and after a painful pause with Austria's hands gentle on his jawline and the warmth between her legs tempting his cock, Prussia closes his eyes and curses, and leaves her.

She fumbles for the blankets to cover herself and Prussia pulls on his long-discarded breeches; leaving them unbuttoned hides the fact that he's half-hard well enough (and he's glad that Austria hasn't yet got her hands on him, or he might have uncomfortable things to explain to the boy). He yanks the door open with deliberate suddenness, though he keeps the opening narrow, to spare Austria- and by extension himself, from her wrath should her modesty be compromised. And when he sees his uninvited guest, he leans his head against the doorframe and sighs, but the sight of that golden-headed child, bold and nervous in equal measure, makes his heart warm.

"It's too late for little boys and little Bunds to be out of their little beds, kiddo," he starts, and it's friendly, despite the slight warning tone- Prussia's rules for children are made to be followed, unlike Austria's, enforced only at whim with wildly varying severity. She's a terrible parent and he'll prove it one day, when she's not distracting everyone with lullabies. The German Confederation is a sweet boy, his sweet boy, and obedient, largely, so he continues. "What's so important it's disrupting the sleep of the half of Europe that matters, hah, Mäuschen?"

Behind him he can _feel_ Austria willing him to take the child back to bed- or turn him away flat, knowing her- and he thinks of those long legs he could have bent back to the mattress, and- the German Confederation is fidgeting, peering under Prussia's arm, and Prussia closes the gap even further, poking head and shoulders out.

"I can't sleep," the child says, obviously, and he amends it. "I keep hearing something scary...and I have nightmares."

Even a six-year-old child knows the right script to get into a parent's concerned arms- knows it better than anyone- and it's sort of true, anyway. Prussia pauses, then half-turns to see where Austria's got to- he catches her slinking from her bed, and Christ, he wants to grab her and pull her back into it as that bare ass disappears into a side chamber- and then he sighs at his little brother.

"Nightmares about what, Bund? Österreich's dirty dishes?" And he's thinking _you'll be the death of me, kid_ when he opens the door a little more and holds out his arms. The German Confederation virtually climbs into them, weightless when Prussia hefts him up and automatically clasping himself on comfortably, the way baby animals do. It makes Prussia's big, bloodthirsty heart melt and drip everywhere like so much cheap candle wax, and he nearly forgets what he's being deprived of. 

Austria forgets nothing, and she fumes as she makes herself decent- so decent she is almost virginal. It's as calculated as anything, the full white nightgown and robe, with that silver cross gleaming at her heaving bosom- _almost_ virginal- and her hair braided in a facade of respectability. It's mostly to hide the sweaty disarray, and perhaps punish Prussia by keeping his hands out of it. 

When she returns to her bed it is already occupied. There are no sides, as such, in her bed; she rolls about until she finds a comfortable space, and Prussia simply lies down directly in the centre and catches her as she passes. He's done exactly that, lying in the middle of her bed as if he has the right without her, with the German Confederation held to his chest- _where she could, should, would be-_ if only to throttle him- and she has no idea what to do with herself, because it's hardly proper to even be in that bed with him in front of the _child._ And she's never liked children- definitely not in her bed- even though she loves this one and the memory of another, very, very dearly.

But it is _her_ bed, so when the German Confederation asks, in tones as white as her nightgown, if she is going to sleep with them, she jerks her head stiffly in answer and climbs in, graceful limbs too tense under all the fabric. Prussia struggles between the urge to catch her eye and avoid it, and he ends up closing his- halfway, anyway; he doesn't miss her pulling the front of her nightgown up to hide the love-hate bites on her chest, but he doesn't comment, because his little boy needs to believe butter wouldn't melt in Prussia's mouth, or haughty, beautiful women under it.

Or just one haughty, beautiful woman with questionable tastes and more questionable motives, but even so.

Austria adjusts her nightgown one more time before she settles in beside Prussia, and she feels very, very awkward. She lies flat against the pillow- perhaps they will just sleep like this, stiff as boards, and that will have to do- but at length Prussia's arm slips under her with utmost caution, and he seems to get away with that, so fine. She keeps her hands to herself, stubbornly, because the child might look like he is already sleeping, but he is _their_ child and she trusts nothing that comes from their threadbare union. As glorious as it is.

She is, of course, correct, and the German Confederation is watching and learning. He's learning, firstly, that Austria's room is huge and magnificent but untidy, and that there is only one bed, but several doors. He's learning that they undress around each other, which he doesn't entirely know what to make of- he's too young for the correct connotations to fall in place, and also too young to know they bathed together as children, so he simply assumes that perhaps the rigidity of dress between adults, especially of opposite sexes, doesn't apply at night. He learns, or he thinks he does, that they seem _less_ comfortable in their night things than they are during the day, and loath to touch each other. But- he sits up suddenly, and both his caretakers' eyes snap open- he can't see a whip or a birch rod or anything lying around amidst the mess of underwear (and in years to come he'll itch to put that underwear away, or at least look at it, but at the moment it flies over his head). So at least Prussia- Austria- neither of them seem to drag the other here for nightly beatings.

He settles down with his head on Prussia's chest, and addresses Austria, eyes a piercing summer blue to her soft autumn shade; they make her a little uncomfortable. She and Prussia are odd-looking among their scattered pseudo-siblings, and the child they've- supervised- into being is the image of their ancient parent. She doesn't particularly want that image in bed with them.

"Why do you have Preußen sleep with you, Österreich?" he asks, bold because he doesn't know that he's bold; Prussia seizes up and wants, for a fleeting moment, to cuff him around the ear (if for nothing else than that name- big brother, _big brother,_ come on), but Austria merely blinks.

"O-Oi, Ludwig...what've I told you about minding your busine- "

"Because he's cheaper than coal for the bed warmer. You must be tired, my sweet, do you need another song? A cup of milk?" 

The German Confederation shakes his head and shrinks down against his brother, and Prussia stares at Austria with bare admiration for the way she just _handles_ these things. But she's looking at him expectantly, and he takes over smoothly, his hand squeezing her waist.

"Right! You're tired, I'm tired, everyone is fu- damn tired, so let's stop talking and start snoring, alright?! You comfy, Bund?" He bounces the boy a little, and the child's quiet laughter is all Austria, nothing like his own, and he _likes_ it, despite himself.

"Yes." The German Confederation settles, thoughtful; he can tell when Austria is brushing him off, but he also believes the majority of the things that come out of her mouth without question, and sleeping together for warmth and comfort- that makes perfect sense to him, the first thing that has in weeks. He seems to rethink his answer, reaching timidly for Austria's sleeve. "Are you comfy, Österreich?"

"Not at all." She allows her arm to be pulled towards the boy, until she finds herself rolling into Prussia's side, and she pauses- but Prussia throws his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, and she withholds her glare in the interest of not frightening a small child. "What is this, now?"

"'S'more comfy," Prussia says, and he closes his eyes with a heavy sigh and a shrug that says _deal with it, or I'll get no sleep to go with my blue balls._ So after a long silence, she deigns to pull herself up- put an arm under Prussia, and one over him, that the German Confederation quickly worms his way beneath- and rest her head in the space between her so-called lover's neck and her pillow, as she always does. It is embarrassing, and she is stiff, but the child crawls closer to her, falling naturally into a small space his caretakers create between their bodies, and instead of Prussia, it's her chest he tucks himself against. It does not feel as terrible as she would have guessed.

He sleeps easily after that, motivations in coming to them falling apart under his tiredness. Prussia holds them both close with disturbingly casual affection, and he'll pay for this turn of events in time. Austria nips his ear to make him open his eyes.

_I loathe you,_ she mouths, straining her neck up to meet him nose to nose. 

_Loathe you more,_ he breathes, and they kiss like newlyweds before they succumb to sleep.

-

When he wakes, Prussia extricates himself with difficulty from the woman and child who are so uncannily alike in unconscious clinginess, and before he does anything else he runs stiff-limbed to the other end of Austria's expansive chambers to relieve his hard-on with disappointingly few thrusts into his hand, and he wishes it was Austria's, because she can make it last all morning.

He returns with a certain sense of shame about him to find Austria curled around his Confederation, the boy's head planted firmly in her bosom- little boys, he thinks, have privileges grown men would die for. Repeatedly.

-

Breakfast is a strange affair. The German Confederation is well-rested and perky, and he eats without prompting. Austria is no less sleepy for having missed out on an extra hour of nightly exercise, but she is more grouchy, in a stiff and absent way, obviously attempting to blank the humiliation of playing happy families with Prussia out of her mind (she likes the charade of the _marriage_ bed, not the resulting offspring). Prussia is a little restless, but- the kid is happy, the day is fresh, it was only one night, and he'll deal with any further nighttime wandering swiftly and sternly.

Maybe Austria will want to join him for a lay in the library, a ride in the stables-

Whether she does or doesn't is hard to discern, because the German Confederation needs so much _attention_ today, and by the end of it Prussia is- well, happy, because that child is precious, but he's ready to put him to bed, if only for adult _conversation,_ let alone consummation. Austria brings on his allergies, but the girl can get his cock hard with two sentences and a look.

-

She's been avoiding him from the moment the German Confederation interrupted her to seize his brother's hand after breakfast, affronted- and Prussia should be fine with that, because the kid is _his,_ and she is a nuisance, and he's not _that_ voracious for her, for God's sake, he's eight hundred, not eighteen (more like twenty one, at least, and in control of his appetite)- but she shows up for bedtime, and he greets her with a slack-jawed smile and wants to slap himself for it.

It's Austria's turn to watch from the doorway as Prussia reads the bedtime story- though he's barely reading it, in favour of embellishing and exaggerating wildly, until the princess is woken not by a kiss, but by the sound of screaming as a ferocious and apparently unrelated battle rages throughout her palace. But Austria cuts in at the climax, and smoothly arranges it so that her childhood love, the bravest knight in all the land, sweeps her on to his horse and away from all this; and Prussia makes pained noises and throws himself unhappily down on the German Confederation's bed, but the child laughs and is satisfied. They kiss him goodnight- Prussia with unselfish enthusiasm, Austria with restraint- and they leave together, each thinking of how sweet it is to give him this domestic peace, and how quickly they would shatter it, if they needed to.

Prussia rambles as they walk to their room, about _his_ child, his brother, his Germany, his his his, and Austria cannot allow it.

"That child was mine before he was ever yours," she says quietly, suddenly, and though her voice is measured, Prussia fancies he can hear the note of pain in it, just beneath the surface. And for a moment, he feels it reverberate through his ribcage, the sound of a punctured lung, in memory of something lost that they have never quite grieved for. They tend not to speak of it.

But Austria is right, and he was _her_ child before he was Prussia's sibling, jealously guarded and jovially regarded, which was a miracle for her. And so Prussia swallowed his grief where Austria poured it out of her fingers and into silence; he is content with this new, reformed child, more in his image. Down to the shape of his eyes. 

He realises there is nothing he can say in reply that would not be immeasurably cruel to her, and he rolls a few options around on his tongue before he finds his conscience.

"Get over it, the kid's still in your house...and he's asleep. So! Bed?"

She gives him a cool stare, whatever upset she feels melting away. "You change tack so easily, it makes me wonder if you really care."

"Listen, there's better things to do at night than listen to you bitch and cry about everything. C'mon, I got a bottle of fancy-smelling oil with your ass' name on it- "

"I _beg_ your pardon?"

"...Y'know- like Türkei..." He waves a finger around lamely, then quickly closes it in his fist. He doesn't have the first clue about the Ottomans and their baths that hasn't been informed by erotic paintings. "M-Massage."

"I dearly hope that is the truth."

And domesticity, of a sort, exists for another night, one spent clutching the headboard with slippery hands, and it is new and interesting enough that the possibility of an interruption is forgotten.

They'll remember, soon enough- perhaps the next evening, perhaps one pleasant, private afternoon, when a six-year-old's needs overpower them again. But for one night- dreaming of ferocious princesses and knights throwing tantrums- the German Confederation has everything he needs.

-

**Author's Note:**

> for once, i don't think i referenced any obscure and hyper-specific bits of trivia so we're good here. it was really more about feelings, wasn't it? i included it in my usual continuity, but if it ends up being out of step with anything else, just ignore it lmao. by the way, 'the earth watches the moon' is coming a bit slower at the moment, but it'll arrive eventually.


End file.
